100x Rebate Sharing System: Retired Incubus Wants to Marry & Have Kids

Chapter 701: Chapter 700- Aunt Evriana got the Maternal Care

The cave wall dissolved around him like wet paper.

Viktor stepped through solid stone as if it were morning mist, the Infinite Sword Dominion’s marked-teleportation carrying him from Millbrook to the exact spot he had marked two days prior.

The cave interior was dim. Damp. The single torch he had left wedged in a wall crack had burned down to a nub, casting a feeble orange glow across the wet stone walls. The air smelled like minerals and earth and something else.

Food.

Roasted meat. Herbs. Someone had been cooking.

His eyes adjusted. The cave was the same one where he had left his aunt Evriana Ktorian after a night of exhaustive, relentless fucking. The bedroll was still there. The small fire pit, constructed from stacked flat stones, held embers. A wooden spit, improvised from a branch, held the remains of a rabbit. The meat was half-eaten.

On the far wall, the demon girl was tied.

Her hands were bound above her head, the rope looped around a stalagmite jutting from the cave ceiling. Her feet were tied at the ankles, the rope anchored to a stone in the floor. Her body, the ash-grey skin, the crimson eyes, the barely-covered form wrapped in the remnants of her war dress, was taut. Stretched. Her legs were spread by the binding, her arms pulled taut, her back against the wet stone wall.

Her crimson eyes found him the moment he materialized.

"You arrived," she said. The words came through clenched teeth. The glare she directed at him was pure, concentrated hatred, the kind that could have melted steel if it carried heat. "You finally arrived. You bastard, where were you?"

The way she said it made Viktor raise an eyebrow. Not the tone of a prisoner. Not the fear of a captive. The tone was accusatory. Irritated. The ’I-have-been-waiting-here-for-two-days-and-you-just-show-up’ tone of a woman who expected better service from her captor.

"What?" Viktor said. His voice carried the usual amusement. The casual, ’I-find-everything-funny’ drawl that he used in every situation. "Have you missed me?"

The demon girl’s crimson eyes flared. The veins in her neck bulged. Her body strained against the ropes.

"YOU BASTARD!" she screamed. The sound echoed through the cave, bouncing off the wet walls, multiplying. "Due to you, I was beaten early in the morning!"

Viktor blinked. The confusion was genuine. Not the performed confusion he sometimes used to tease women. Real, ’what-are-you-talking-about’ confusion.

"What? Beaten? By whom?"

The demon girl’s mouth opened. Then closed. The anger on her face shifted.morphed. Became something more complicated. Embarrassment mixed with fury mixed with the ’I-cannot-believe-I-am-about-to-admit-this’ reluctance.

"Evriana," she said. The name came out like a curse. "When she woke up, she hit me. She asked me what I did to you. What I did to Victor. As if I — I was tied here! I was TIED HERE! What could I have done?!"

Viktor looked at the demon girl. At the ropes. At the bruise on her cheek, faintly visible beneath the ash-grey skin, the yellowish discoloration that indicated a hard slap. Evriana had hit her. The Ktorian aunt, the thick-bodied, brown-haired woman, had woken up, seen the demon girl tied to the wall, and slapped her.

And then left.

"She went to the forest," the demon girl continued. Her voice was bitter. Resentful. The ’abandoned-by-both-my-captor-and-my-tormentor’ resentment. "She went to find food. She left me here. Tied. For two days."

Viktor ruffled his hair. The gesture was absent-minded. The ’okay-let-me-think-about-this’ motion of a man who had just teleported into a situation he hadn’t fully thought through.

"What? Really?" he said. The words were half-apology, half-disbelief. "I was just—"

"YOU IDIOT!"

The voice came from behind him. Not from the demon girl on the wall. From the cave entrance. The shout was loud, raw, thick with emotion. The voice of a woman who had been worried and scared and angry and relieved all at the same time.

The hug hit him before he could turn.

A body. Thick. Soft. Warm. The impact was substantial. Evriana Ktorian, his aunt, the woman he had fucked into unconsciousness two nights ago, slammed into him from behind. Her arms wrapped around his waist. Her face buried into his back. Her body, full and heavy and barely covered in the torn dress that was all she had left, pressed against him.

The softness was immediate and impossible to ignore. Her breasts, large and unrestrained beneath the thin fabric, flattened against his back. Her belly, the thick, mature swell of a woman who had borne children, pressed against his lower back. Her hips, wide and round, connected with his. Her thighs, full and warm, pressed against his legs.

She was crying. He could feel the tears through his shirt. The wet warmth spreading across his back.

"Oh, who is this?" Viktor said. The teasing tone was automatic. The ’I-know-exactly-who-this-is-but-I-am-going-to-pretend’ drawl that he couldn’t suppress. "Isn’t it my dear aunt?"

Evriana trembled against him. Her arms tightened. Her fingers, gripping the front of his shirt, clenched. The fabric tore slightly under the pressure.

"Where were you?" she whispered. Her voice was muffled by his back. The words came out broken, interspersed with sniffles. "Where were you, you punk? I missed you."

The confession came out muffled. Desperate. The ’I-was-alone-in-a-cave-with-a-tied-up-demon-for-two-days-and-I-thought-you-were-never-coming-back’ confession of a woman who had held it together through sheer willpower and had just lost it.

Viktor’s teasing expression softened. The amusement faded. What replaced it was something else. Not warmth. Not love. Recognition. The ’she-waited-for-me’ recognition that made his arms move.

He turned. Her arms, reluctant to release, slid around his waist as he rotated. His hands found her shoulders. Pulled her closer. Her face, tear-streaked, the brown eyes red-rimmed, the brown hair tangled and wild, buried into his chest.

He hugged her tighter.

His hands moved. Down her back. Over the curve of her waist. To her hips. His fingers found the hem of her torn dress. Pulled it up. Over the round, full curve of her ass. The fabric, already torn, gave way easily. His hands found bare flesh. Warm. Soft. The thick, mature cheeks filled his palms. He kneaded. The flesh deformed under his fingers. The skin was smooth, slightly damp from the cave humidity. His fingers spread the cheeks apart. The motion pulled her panty, already displaced, further aside. The fabric stretched. The elastic cut into her hip.

Evriana gasped. Her body flinched against his. The gasp was sharp. The ’your-hands-are-on-my-ass-and-my-body-is-responding’ gasp that she couldn’t control.

"Nnh—" she breathed. Her face tilted upward. Her brown eyes, wet and glistening, found his. The tears still fell. The blush, starting at her cheeks, spread down her neck.

He looked into her eyes. At the blink. The slow, trembling, ’I-know-this-is-wrong-but-I-want-it’ blink that lasted a fraction of a second too long. Her eyelashes, wet with tears, fluttered.

He leaned.

His face descended. Slowly. Giving her time to pull away. To say no. To remember that she was his aunt. To remember that this was wrong. To remember anything that would make her stop him.

She didn’t.

Her face rose. The motion was small. Involuntary. The ’my-body-is-moving-on-its-own’ movement of a woman whose desire had overridden her reason. Her chin tilted. Her lips parted.

Their mouths met.

The kiss started soft. His lips pressed against hers. The contact was warm. Gentle. The ’I-am-here-now’ pressure that said everything without words. Her lips, trembling, responded. They moved against his.

The motion was tentative. Uncertain. The ’I-don’t-know-how-to-do-this-anymore’ hesitation of a woman who had been fucked raw two nights ago and had spent two days alone thinking about it.

Then it deepened.